“Of course it is.” Lady Fluff condensed to her usual size, density, and demureness. “The final decision on your fate has yet to be made. On the plus side, you are a master of mischief and your claw work is outstanding. There is scarcely a woman in the castle who hasn’t had reason to complain of you snagging and damaging her favorite garments.”
“I’ve done my best,” he said, trying to sound humble when in fact he was quite proud of the damage he’d wrought.
“But there’s more to becoming a Cat Walker than the ability to cause damage.” Lady Fluff scowled at him. “Your appearance leaves much to be desired. It would be better if you were solid black, but those white whiskers! The little white mittens on your paws! You look…” she wriggled her whiskers with disgust, “you look positivelycute!”
He whimpered and bowed his head again. “I’m so sorry, Lady Fluff, but there is nothing I can do about that.” He thought a moment. “Perhaps if I found a pot of black ink, I could cover the white?”
She shook her head. “That would be only a temporary solution. Instead, the Council has decided that you must prove yourself by successfully completing a mission.”
The Rogue had always been ingenious in his troublemaking, so this sounded promising. “What is the mission, my lady?”
“You must drive a human to his doom,” she said crisply.
The Rogue’s ears flattened nervously. “I have tokilla man?”
Lady Fluff shook her head. “There are many kinds of doom. You must frighten a man into facing his greatest fear. His doom.”
“Any particular man?” the Rogue asked warily.
“Lord Carroll, the newly arrived master of the castle. Have you seen him?”
“Just a brief glimpse. He was scarred like a champion tomcat. Very impressive,” the Rogue said admiringly.
“He’s a soldier and a hero of Waterloo, so he’ll not be frightened easily.” Lady Fluff’s tail twitched thoughtfully. “I can give you some suggestions. Your ability to close doors and shut people in closets is excellent, and it can be made even better.”
The Rogue didn’t like humbling himself, but his mama hadn’t raised any stupid kittens. “To join the Order of Cats Who Walk Through Walls has always been my highest ambition! I will be deeply grateful for any aid you can give me.’”
Lady Fluff smiled. “Then let us adjourn to the kitchen and discuss this over some scraps of ham that the cook has set aside for me.”
Ham? The Black Rogue arched his back in a stretch. “Lead on, my lady!”
Chapter Three
As Rafe regardedhis image in the mirror, he saw that the footman, Rhodes, had the makings of a good valet. Perhaps Rafe should hire him for the position. Not only was his clothing immaculate and unwrinkled, but his freshly shaved face made the saber scar stand out very nicely. He hoped that would drive off some of the husband hunters.
Turning from the mirror, he asked Rhodes, “Do you know what guests have been invited, other than the giggling fortune hunters?”
Rhodes couldn’t quite suppress a smile. “A number of young men and women from the area have been invited, along with their parents. It’s meant to be a casual gathering where people can mingle easily. The refreshments will be excellent. Since it’s All Hallows Eve, there might be games.”
“What kind of games?” Rafe asked warily. “Do we have to carve turnips into demon faces like they do in Scotland?”
Rhodes shook his head. “In this part of the Cotswolds, the traditional games are usually intended to reveal future spouses. A popular local game is to carve initials on nuts and toss them into a fire to see if they burn brightly together.”
Rafe shuddered. “I do not play games, and certainly not mating games!”
“There should also be informal dancing, if that’s more to your taste, my lord,” Rhodes said reassuringly. “And a card room.”
Rafe repressed a sigh, hoping that there would be enough guests that he could slip away quietly. Then he headed down the stairs, his face grim.
The large salon had been set up with tables and chairs around the edges and space left in the middle for mingling and dancing. As he entered, he saw a ripple of gowns as young ladies turned toward him. He also felt a wave of avid interest that reminded him of charging French soldiers, if not as lethal. Not quite.
He hesitated in the door and seriously considered bolting, but his attention was caught by a blond gentleman with a familiar face. “Rafe!” the fellow said. “I half expected you not to show up!”
“Geoffrey!” Rafe caught the other man’s hand. He’d played with Geoffrey Milton when they were boys. He was the son of a neighboring landowner and a thoroughly good fellow. “How many years has it been?”
“Far too many.” Releasing the handshake, Geoff said, “You might remember my wife, Molly?”
Rafe smiled as he made his bow. “Of course I remember her! Miss Molly Gaines was the prettiest girl in the county, and now you’re surely the most beautiful.”
